Brothers
by mywildimagination
Summary: Albus and Aberforth never saw eye to eye, but they did reach a sort of reconciliation.


The first time Aberforth had seen his brother in over a decade, Albus arrived at the threshold of the Hog's Head with a sack of goat feed, looking anxious. Their eyes met, and when Albus saw no open hostility in Aberforth's face he said, "Good evening, Aberforth."

His plaintive greeting rang out over the empty bar, which Aberforth had spent most of the day cleaning – at least, so it looked partway decent. It was the cleanest it had been in half a century, and as clean as it would be for a long time, for Aberforth had little intention of cleaning it further in the near future. He tossed the rags into a bucket and they came down with a deep _shlock_. "Good evening, Professor Dumbledore."

If Albus was disturbed by the sudden movement or the formal address by his brother, he made no sign of it. He merely took a breath and lifted the sack slightly. "I thought I'd bring you a bit of a house-warming gift."

Aberforth grunted. "What made you think to bring that? For all you know, I don't keep goats anymore."

"But you'd never get rid of Gertrude," Albus said.

"Maybe she died."

"Did she?"

"No," sighed Aberforth. "She'll appreciate the goat feed. Thank you."

"You're welcome," said Albus. "May I sit?" He had made no move to enter the bar.

"What do you need permission for? This is a pub, not a dwelling." Albus crossed the bar and sat. Aberforth took the goat feed into a back room. "What can I get you?" he called from the room. When he emerged, he took out a clean glass from under the counter. "Mead? Wine? Firewhiskey?"

"Some of the wine will do, thanks." Aberforth gave Albus his glass, then shrugged and poured one for himself, too. He took a seat next to Albus.

"If you're expecting me to forgive you, or to – to take money from you or whatever, then you'll be disappointed."

Albus kept his eyes in his wine glass. "Forgiveness I have beyond hope to expect," he said. "And while I wouldn't mind offering you help, I know you don't need me. You never have."

"Well, just so we have that straightened out."

After a few moments of silence, punctuated by them taking short draughts from their wine glasses, Albus said, "I'm glad to know you're fixing the place up. It hosted the rendezvous for a goblin rebellion in 1612, you know."

"Lots of history in this town."

"Lots of history everywhere, it seems, for a wizard. Whatever it is about our kind, we seem so incredibly steeped in the old, the tried, the unshakable, whereas the Muggles – they seem to be constantly moving, constantly changing, learning, and growing. No wonder we've opened up a Muggle Studies class at Hogwarts. It's not something we can keep up with anymore." He took another draught from his wine glass.

Aberforth never cared about the political difference between wizards and Muggles, but he was slightly interested in the new direction his brother seemed to have taken in their years apart. "You haven't always thought so highly of Muggles."

"I haven't always thought very highly of anyone, except for myself. For as bright as I've considered myself to be, I've never realized how valuable every single member of the human race is. That each living soul, no matter how unsavory they choose to become, has good in them, and that whatever our given talents and abilities, we all have the opportunity to choose good. Any good deed, of any magnitude, is able to go a long way. Everybody is worth something, and it's to my misfortune that I ever pretended otherwise. Especially – especially where my family is concerned. I'm so sorry."

Aberforth took this with a mixture of skepticism and anger. Albus had said he wasn't asking for forgiveness, but that was what he was getting at, wasn't he, with his way of acting so _wise_, and showing how much he had _changed_, and please, couldn't they just forget the whole thing had ever happened? Aberforth gripped his glass until he thought it might break. He wasn't going to forget Ariana. Not ever.

"Why are you here, Albus?" Aberforth demanded. "You want more than a glass of wine and to wish me well. As if you ever would wish me well. Stop manipulating me. I hate it. Tell me what you want from me."

"I'm not surprised you think that of me," said Albus softly. "I probably deserve it. But I really do want to wish you well, and I intend to help you believe it. That's all. You may not ever forgive me, but I hope we can reconcile with one another. Treat one another like men, the way I never gave you a chance to before. I may not dwell in the past, but I certainly don't want to forget it." He pointed to the portrait on the wall. "She'll always be with us, for better or for worse." And with one swift gulp, he finished the wine.

Aberforth's wine glass, already emptied, lay forgotten on the bar. "Well, you'll just have to prove that to me, won't you. But don't expect us to be like old chums. I don't see that ever happening."

"No, I don't expect to force my company on you. But I will visit from time to time, if you'll have me."

For the first time, Aberforth looked Albus full on the face. He had aged and grown a beard, already getting quite long. Though still youthful, Albus had a bearing of someone much older, and while his admirers would say it was due to his wisdom and maturiry, Aberforth knew it was something more – the burden of his guilt, placed right where it should be – in chains around his heart, weighing down the gaze of his eyes, so that when he looked at his brother, they lost still more of their original brilliance. Aberforth's eyes also gave off light, but differently, with cold fire instead of magical illumination.

So much Ariana had missed. The brothers had put off boyhood and become men, and she wasn't here to witness it, to make the light that had been such a part of their home – something Albus had never understood. And she never got the chance to grow up herself, and become a woman, perhaps find a life for herself if she could ever learn to control her magic . . . all of that, lost.

So much gone, so much destroyed. . . . What was the point of losing any more?

"Yes," said Aberforth, "I suppose that'll do."


End file.
